The B-Word
by BongoDumbs
Summary: Post-Augustine NYC is beginning to boil; to resent the cameras and the DUP's. Revolution is stirring-and Desmond wants nothing to do with it. Stuck in a boring relationship with a girl who runs a Delsin Rowe fan blog, his view on Bio-Terrorism is changed when he meets a former inmate of Curdun-Cay. [Romance, humor, action, and drama; post good-karma Second Son.]
1. 1: The Quintessential Tool

_She's using the 'period' excuse again. _

I get up off the couch with an over-dramatic sigh. I want her to look my way; to acknowledge how much of a total _bitch_ she's being, but am granted no such solace.

"_I'll go and get some." _I turn for the door, but she can never make herself seem like the bad guy. It's a fucking _affliction. _

"_Thanks, Des. I appreciate it. A lot."_ The smile in her voice is audible, and it does a number on me. _Me: _the used and abused boyfriend sent on an epic quest to Duane Reade at twelve thirty in the morning to pick up some fucking BBQ potato chips. Because my girlfriend's craving them. I slip into a light sweatshirt before leaving her apartment, thankful that the air outside in the hall doesn't smell like her perfume. It was a smell I used to love.

Let me backtrack.

My name is Desmond White, and my girlfriend is in love with Delsin Rowe.

It's a fucking _stupid_ obsession. I'd omit it as a celebrity crush, but the guy's a _Bio-Terrorist,_ and she has an entire _blog _dedicated to him_._

You'd think with all the D.U.P. media blackouts that _someone_ would've banned Tumblr.

I guess I could say I never jumped on that whole bandwagon. Sure, the shit with Augustine was interesting. Revolutionary. But it turns out it's really easy to ignore a revolution if you don't get caught up in the mentality. I eat, I sleep, I piss and I shit, I wear jeans and t-shirts, I have sex, I go to work on occasion. I let my hair get long, but never too long - I have a PS3 and a PS4.

That's all I am.

That's all I need.

It's early fall now and the air is ripe with riveting chill. Leaves skitter listlessly; helplessly against the sidewalk, pried from their branches by the same force that pulls them now. I can't so much see them as I can hear them.

My mind fills in the gaps.

I'm walking and reflecting; wishing I'm wearing something heavier. I underestimated the weather again. Wind's blowing in from the hudson and it rips through my sweatshirt, making my lower arms erupt with gooseflesh. I shiver.

I'm getting looks as I pass through a D.U.P. checkpoint, my mind on autopilot as I press my finger to the screen and for the thousandth time in my twenty three years of life I'm told I'm not a bio-fucking-terrorist. Ever since_ Delsin _three months ago that's all New York talks about: _Conduits. _'Seattle was liberated, why not us?' 'It's only a matter of time,' the whispers say, beneath the blank, insentient eyes of the cameras.

I've gotten stopped more than once just based on my appearance: I look like the kind of guy who's done _a lot _of drugs. Maybe I just have a suspicious face - but I like to think it's because I look defiant.

It's a definite ego boost.

The cold brings my head down from the clouds. I'm wishing I hadn't moved in with this chick - Avery - after only a couple months of dating her. A shitty call on my part. Sure, my parents were just about ready to 'evict' me from my old place, which they begrudgingly paid for, but I'd have dealt with that. I'm in deep now.

At least she does my fucking laundry.

But that doesn't make up for, by any stretch, the fact that she's degraded me to the _archetypal tool. _Who the fuck buys BBQ Lays at this hour of the morning? Me, obviously. The shriveling creature at the cash register thankfully doesn't question or comment.

It's New York City.

Shit's weird here.

I leave the cold, fluorescent glow of the convenience store and step onto the sidewalk. The distorted images of neon signs, billboards, and screens are cast, as if wraiths, onto the reflective surface of the rainwashed street. Many people's lights are on despite the hour, dimmed by curtains or shades. I'm looking up into the half cloudy sky, past the looming tops of skyscrapers all around, thinking of leaving. I'd _convinced_ myself I was in love with Avery, and was currently feeling the consequences of being dishonest with oneself. And the consequences of dating a complete and total _bitch__**. **_

I'm part of a thinning crowd. We've gotten bolder ever since the victory in Seattle - people aren't _as_ scared anymore. On the news a couple days ago there were reports of a mob dismantling a checkpoint. You wouldn't have even _thought _that was even possible two months ago. I turn off onto a side street, waiting at the curb for the light to change before jogging across the street, the bag swinging in my hand.

I'm moving. It's dark, the moon is gone but the stars are out, only half obscured by clouds.

"_Hey," _I hear beneath my thoughts, but don't turn to acknowledge.

"_Hey!" _The female voice repeats, closer this time. A figure jogs toward me and I barely have time to take in her shabby appearance before she starts talking.

"_Look - You have food, right? I haven't eaten in three fucking days." _She laughs like it's funny, but looks immediately down.

"_Fuck off, junkie." _I mumble and sidestep, pushing past her and continuing at a faster pace on the near deserted sidewalk. I pass an alleyway and the smell of rot and sewage consumes me for a moment. I walk faster.

"_C'mon, don't be a dick!" _She persists, keeping my pace next to me, _"Do you have change or something, maybe?" _She sighs, collecting herself - trying not to beg. _"Anything."_

"_I told you, fuck off." _I'm getting impatient.

She steps in front of me, and I'm forced to stop to avoid a head-on collision.

"_Do you think I'm lying to you or something?" _Her eyes, bright and hazel, are reflecting a distorted image of a red neon sign behind my head. _"Hey, man - I'm not a shitty person, I'm just fucking hungry!"_

I sigh audibly - but a sudden vine of ironic selfishness runs through me. I hand her the Duane Reade bag, realizing how short she is. Short and skinny. Even her hair is short, leaving the sharp line of her jaw exposed. She is youthful but not young. Her clothes are ill-fitting, old, and reeking of god knows what. She taps me lightly on the arm.

"_Thanks, man. 'Preciate it." _She smiles warmly and nods, waiting for me to reciprocate the gesture.

"_They're just some shitty chips, man." _I scoff.

"_Better than what I got, yeah?" _She's still fucking smiling - and I'm taken aback by her show of appreciation.

Slipping my hands into my pockets, I reply unenthusiastically, _"No worries," _And turn away. I can feel her eyes on my back for a few seconds, until I hear the crinkling of the bag.

I jam the keys in the lock and push into the apartment, greeted by the flickering of the TV screen against the light carpeting. The couch carves a huge shadow in the otherwise dark room. I'm standing in the middle of it.

Avery turns at the sound of the door, but slouches back into the cushions when she sees I'm empty handed.

I shrug innocently, _"All out. Sorry, Ava." _

"_You checked CVS?"_

This is the shit she pulls. Making me guilty of all these goddamn things I _didn't_ do wrong. I decide to dodge the bullet. I can't make this my fault. Not for the hundredth time this month.

"_No. The D.U.P.'s were doing something weird; the street was blocked off. Sorry." _Why am I apologizing so goddamn much? _Because I'm a tool. _

"_What about the other one?" _She interjects my thoughts, _"You know, the one near McDonald's." _I ignore the fact that there are about a _million _McDonald's in this city, and search my reserves desperately for another excuse.

"_It's late. I doubt they're open anyway." _I say before too long has passed.

"_Aren't those open all night?"_

"_Don't think so, Ava."_

"_Oh, okay." _She tries to mask her disappointment with indifference, but it just comes off callous. I'm really sick of that tactic - this _thing_ she does, consistently - but I hold my tongue. I'm too tired to fight and there's really no fucking point. She always wins.

Avery's watching the news again. We'd had on some documentary about whale migrations on Nat-Geo, but she'd changed it to CNN after I left. Some guy was talking to the reporter. Something about Gaza. I knew she was just waiting for more _Bio Terrorist_ reports, hoping to catch some more Delsin Rowe coverage. There was a lot of Bio Terrorist talk probably about a week ago now, since the inmates of Curdun Cay were released - but even that news was getting old; getting boring. Though it was never something I'd actively kept up with.

I want to say something to her but decide against it.

The bed looks inviting enough through the open door to my left, next to the kitchenette. I turn and upon closing the door slip out of my pants and into my side of the queen size bed, not bothering to change; pulling the blanket up close to my chin.

I don't remember falling asleep.

There's a sharp knock at the door and my mind goes into autopilot, fighting my ragdoll state and dragging my ass out of bed; out of the warmth. I groan. Clementine morning streams through the blinds and the city is backlit.

_Ahh, the asscrack of dawn._

"_Fucker…" _I grumble, rubbing sleep from my eyes and pushing my shoulders back. Avery isn't here. Probably on one of her _pouting trips_. That has to be her at the door. I take my time: stretch, sluggishly pee, pop some tap water and a _morning blend _cartridge into the Keurig before even considering the door. Ava's keys are on the counter, marked by a 'Florida' keychain and another of her name in pink, half hidden behind the gleaming silver keys. I don't know what they're all for - we _never_ use the car. She's locked out now. She obviously left them here for a reason.

Distracted by another of her urgent knocking spurts, I flip the lock up and open the door.

"_Hey, can I use your bathroom?"_

I blink my still blurry eyes in disbelief, _"The fuck?"_

"_I really gotta pee, man."_

"_Uh...Who are you?"_

"_Me, from last night. I'm Sage. Can I use your bathroom?" _She repeats. I'm vaguely remembering her face: the girl from last night. Her bright hazel eyes jump start my memory - but I'm not thinking straight yet.

"_Uh….Sure."_ I sidestep, allowing her inside. She looks younger than she did yesterday. I think it's the lighting.

Sage steps into the apartment and looks around with a sense of something I can't place. She's staring: at the TV, the couch, the plates drying next to the sink. I point to the bathroom. She doesn't notice.

I point again. _"To your left." _She perks up, as if remembering she has to pee, and quickly walks over to the door with a bounce in her step.

My stupidity is sinking in as my mind is waking up. She _seems _harmless, but that means absolutely nothing.

The Keurig is flashing blue, and seeing no other preventative course of action to take, I place a mug under the spout and wait for the coffee to come spurting out.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

_So fucking stupid. _

If Avery finds out about this, I'm fucking _boned._

I sigh audibly as the smell of coffee fills the small kitchen, regretting my previous kindness to the point of anger. I couldn't have clocked more than six of sleep, either. I _need_ my fucking sleep.

"_Your bathroom is awesome!" _Sage calls through the door.

"_Really." _I mumble as I pull a carton of Half and Half out of the fridge.

"_Yeah! I haven't wiped my own ass in like, fucking __**years!**_" I'm fully awake after hearing that. The toilet flushes and I'm left in the middle of the kitchen with a disgusted as well as deeply confused look on my face and a clear choice before me.

Do I:

a. Ignore her statement completely and continue as if I wasn't completely offput

b. Call the Cops; maybe the D.U.P.

c. Arm myself with a lamp and order her the fuck out of the apartment

Instead I'm frozen in the kitchen with a partially open container of Half and Half trying to make some fucking _sense_ of what the hell that crazy bitch just said. I hear her turn on the sink - thank god, she's washing her hands - and the door opens. Sage is smiling wide, seeming a lot less _urgent_ than she'd been five minutes ago. I continue to prepare my coffee, dumping some splenda haphazardly into the mug, not at all caring, just trying to keep my head on straight. I turn around to face her and find her gone from my immediate sight, until I notice from my peripherals that she's sitting at the table. Tentatively, I put my coffee on the table next to my dilapidated iphone three and pull out a chair. Sage eyes my coffee - I can see her trying not to.

"_Thanks, man. What's your name?" _She boldly asks, and partially stunned, I reply.

"_Desmond. Des " _I correct myself stupidly, stumbling on my words.

"_Cool."_ She smiles again and it seems...genuine. _"Do you have any food?"_

"_Woah - calm the fuck down. You guilt trip me out of my chips, come knocking at -" _I glance briefly at a clock mounted above the kitchen sink, _"Six-fucking-thirty in the morning, use my bathroom, and expect me to toast you up some fucking Eggo's or something?" _I open my mouth to continue, but my brows lower in confusion as I realize I'm missing some crucial information. _"Wait - how the fuck did you find where I live?"_

"_I, uh, may have followed you. Sorry. Look, Des - don't take it wrong, yeah? Macy's is closed, and I didn't feel like walking all the way to Penn to-"_

"_So you fucking stalked me!?" _I yell, now standing. Survival instinct is kicking in. I grab my phone, unlocking it. The slider falls back to its start position halfway through the unlocking sequence - the screen is covered in cracks. I try again and again until it finally works.

"_Please, don't call the cops! I'll go, yeah? I didn't mean any-"_

I laugh, cutting her off. _"Oh, like hell you didn't. Whatever you say."_ I click on the green 'phone' icon and furiously fumble for the keypad.

"_Sorry, Des. I can't let you do that." _She looks anxious. Genuinely apologetic.

Sage makes no move to advance. I scoff.

"_I'm serious," _She says hesitantly, _"Just put the phone down, yeah?" _

I hit the 'call' button and press it to my ear, turning away from her and walking toward the door. It's halfway through the first ring when I feel her hand on my back.

Heat consumes me; light consumes the shadows in the room, and suddenly I'm on the floor. I close my eyes and wish for blackness: _let this shitty morning be over. Let me just go to sleep._ But I don't feel tired; I just feel weak. My heart's beating abnormally loud and I can't seem to get my breath at a steady, normal pace.

A hand reaches down in front of my face; I look up to see Sage as she grabs my phone off the tiled kitchen floor. _Damn. Another web of cracks. _

She examines it with unmuted interest, flipping it over in her hands a few times, slipping it in her pocket. She notes the direction of my eyes and an expression of fleeting panic overtakes her face.

"_I, uh - I'm really sorry, man. I didn't mean to - well - do...that, but…"_ She draws breath, _"It's been a while. Sorry, though. Here," _She offers me her hand, bending down slightly, though she doesn't seem steady, _"I got you."_

There's _no_ fucking way I'm touching her after whatever it is _she_ did to me.

"_Get the fuck away from me." _I mumble as her expression shifts to one of disappointment and light briefly flickers over her fingertips as she retracts her hand. Instinct takes over and I sit up, scooting across the floor to lean with my back against the fridge.

"_Look, Des, I-"_

"_You've gotta be shitting me." _I scoff in disbelief, _"You're a Bio Terrorist."_

"_Hey, man - I'm not a Bio Terrorist. I'm a Conduit. It's like - callin' a Chinese guy a Chink. That shit's not classy,"_ Sage regains her smile.

I stare.


	2. 2: The Beginning of the End

_Warning: This chapter contains mild drug use. It's really nondescript. Don't do drugs, kiddos._

Sage glances at her hands, turning them over to inspect her palms. They're shaking slightly, and her fingers seem abnormally thin as I stare with half-interest. Light flits over her fingertips, but it's changing, getting darker. The light turns slightly more matte, in a shade of golden-brown that reminds me briefly of toasted marshmallows, and a dark red. The colors disband, disappearing into nowhere.

"_Shit, Des - I got some of your tan. Sorry."_ Her face projects apology, but I can't identify the offense. She smiles awkwardly and scratches her head for a moment. I look down. My once red shirt is now white.

"_What the fuck!?" _I shout, fervently inspecting the material. It feels the same, and the design on the front's the same - the color is just…

Gone.

What she'd said registers. I look down at my skin, finding myself looking like I hadn't been outside in weeks. She seems to notice my combination of surprise and disbelief, and immediately defends herself.

"_It'll go back to normal in, uh...a few days, I swear….A-and you'll feel better in a couple hours, too, I guess. So it's all good."_

"'_The fuck did you even do to me!?" _I ask like it's not already fucking _obvious._

"_Eh, you know, just...copped a bit of your pigment, yeah? It's a shitty power, I know. I wish I had - hm...Glass, or paper, or -" _She laughs to herself, _"Anything Delsin has." _

I discretely roll my eyes at her Delsin comment. I want to ask her what the big fucking deal with that prick is, but remind myself that she won't be sticking around that long.

I stand, quite shakily, both from shock and from whatever she did to me, and back up as much as I can. I can hear my heart in my temples.

"_Look, Des -" _Sage holds out her palms in surrender, her face becoming rather somber, _"I didn't mean to do that, okay? I'm not used to this anymore…"_

"_You're a Bio Terrorist! How could you not know-" _It hits me like a shit ton of bricks. _"...You're from Curdun Cay...aren't you."_ It's less of a question than a statement. To my surprise, Sage just nods. I try to swallow my sympathy but it burns in my throat.

"_Why aren't you with the...the programs? You know, the Bio Terrorist ones the government's setting up?"_

"_I need to find my family," _ She explains, _"They have to fucking be here."_

"_This city's fucking huge-"_

"_Yeah, I know."_

"_-and crawling with D.U.P.'s. This is like, the worst place for you to be, right now. I'm sure it's different out west, but here - Bio Terrorism isn't the 'hip new thing,' get me?"_

"_I know that, too."_

I'm still shaken from this whole fucking _thing, _and I need to calm my nerves.

"_I'll be back in a sec." _ I don't give Sage time to get a word in lengthwise as I turn into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I fervently rip through my clothing drawer, shoving on a new shirt - keeping the same one on feels weird for some reason - and begin to rifle through my socks. Picking out a rolled up pair of red striped ones, I reach into the neatly folded bundle and pull out an altoids container: the last of my weed. I'd smoked a lot before I moved in with Avery - she's not too okay with it. I remove a small glass piece from the casing as well, and make my way to the kitchen, producing a lighter. I pack, light, and inhale. I close my eyes as smoke pours out of my mouth, and cough abruptly. This stuff is shit.

"_Want some?" _Sage turns at the sound of my voice and nods. I can see her eyes light up.

"_What the hell am I doing? Smoking a bowl with a Bio Terrorist…" _I sigh into the counter as I wait for the high to set in. Sage comes over, and I note the shakiness of her hands again.

"_Light it for me?" _She asks, and I do. She comes away coughing.

We're both mildly stoned within the next twenty minutes, enjoying the weight of our bodies against the couch. The TV fills our silence, but the moments between conversation are insignificant to the point of forgetting. I notice Sage has descended into something more than pensiveness. She's searching for something - for what, I can't identify - but I interrupt anyway. I've never been the tactful type. Not even when I'm high.

"_You have to leave, you know. If you don't, I'm calling someone." _Inside, I'm conflicted. I can't just...turn her in, can I? Sure, she's a Bio-Terrorist, but she hasn't tried to do anything bad, I guess. She's been a prisoner, and with the country divided as to how Bio-Terrorists should be dealt with...I can't just...Call 911, can I? I'm glad for the drugs, forcing me to calm, to think. I've missed smoking, but I guess I'd been that desperate for a girlfriend that I've been willing to stop. Which is kind of sad.

Sage gets defensive, putting on her best puppy face to try to coax me from my mindset. _"C'mon, Des. Don't be a dick." _I vaguely remember her saying that last night. _"I just need a few hours to situate myself, yeah? Like - go on the computer and look some things up. I just have to find out where they are. Shit, If I don't, I'll be searching forever." _

Her sudden bit of eloquence is surprising. I guess that comes with heightened thought. I notice she makes no threats to use her powers or something, which is also surprising. Bio Terrorists are monsters - and isn't Sage a Bio Terrorist?

I laugh curtly, running my forefinger along the arm of the couch. _"No fucking way. Get someone else."_

"_Shit, man - please?"_

"_No!"_ I wave dismissively in her direction; she sulks. Sage plays with the hem of her shirt for a moment, lost in thought, before she begins pulling the fabric from her abdomen.

"_The fuck? Leave your shirt on!" _She looks at me, surprised,

"_You mean you don't want me to-"_

"_No!"_

"_But-"_

"_No way in hell will I - who's fucking taken, by the way - take part in what you're suggesting. Get the fuck out of my house, Bio Terrorist, or I swear I'm calling the authorities!" _For the sake of appearance, I'm glad I didn't lose my train of thought half way through. I'm standing, motioning to the door. She's still on the couch with her shirt halfway up her stomach.

There's a knock at the door.

Sage jumps.

I briskly make my way over to it, fighting a wave of dizziness as I look through the peephole. _Shit. Avery. _I open the door and slip outside - the light is still coming nearly horizontally through the windows, but it has yellowed. She talks, I barely hear her, holding up my hands and shushing her. She wrinkles her nose, obviously smelling substance on me - but that's not the important thing.

"_What's going on?"_

"_Uh-" _I stutter, trying to find the words, _"Situation. Look. Don't freak out. There's a…"_ I briefly inhale, hearing my heartbeat in my temples, _"Bio Terrorist in our apartment."_

I see the blood drain from Avery's dark skin, but the light in her eyes increases.

"_Conduit - and no way. You're kidding, right?" _I shake my head at her, not wanting to believe my own words. I want a moment to pass, but she pushes right into the apartment. I reach for her, not wanting her to go inside, but end up following. I look to the couch.

Sage is gone - or so I think.

"_Holy Mary mother of fuck, I missed oreos." _My suspicions are confirmed: the fucking Bio-Terrorist is still here.

And she's eating the oreos.

Sage is stuffing her face, bent over the blue container on the kitchen counter beneath the cabinet, which is still open. She looks at me, smiles, goes back to the container - and does a double take when she sees Avery.

A word about Avery: she's stunning. I have no idea why she's dating me, she's out of my league completely. I'm cute and I know it, in that half-asian way, but I'm no Abercrombie model. Avery is fucking _hot._ She has what my black friend would call a 'badonka-donk,' and what any brogre would classify as an onion butt: an ass so fine it'll make you cry. Avery is the perfect shade of dark, with full lips and a thin build. She wears her hair naturally: long, puffy with tiny, perfect banana ringlets. She looks slightly young for her age, but so do I. Still, we look rather mismatched. I think it's because we are.

Anyway.

Sage is startled by the new presence, stopping with her mouth full of oreos. It's a comedic sight I find no humor in.

"_Are you really a...Conduit?"_ Avery asks tentatively, taking a step toward Sage, who nods, slowly chewing the mass in her mouth. Avery's face brightens, but she keeps her voice down low. _"Show me?" _

Sage looks expectantly at me, to my surprise, and I facepalm. Why _me?_ What did _I _do to deserve this? Why the fuck was she looking for my permission?

"_Go fucking nuts." _I say sarcastically. If I say something against it, Avery surely will surely veto.

Sage looks around for a moment for some benign test subject, and rests her eyes on the Oreo box. She puts her hand on it and the room is bathed in white light for a brief moment. When my eyes adjust, the plastic container is white, and blue swirls around her hand. Avery gasps. _"That's so cool! You're a - color conduit?"_

"_Yeah, I guess."_ Despite her efforts to suppress it, Sage is beaming with pride. She bashfully runs a hand through her hair, and a brief bit of light brightens the room. When she lets her hand drop back to her side there's a large, misshapen streak of white in her hair. Avery is amazed, but Sage seems not to notice.

"_Tell me all about it. What does it feel like? How did it happen? Have you ever met Delsin Rowe? Are you from Curdun Cay? Did you ever meet - Augustine?" _Avery grills Sage.

"_Yeah, uh...do you, like, have anything to eat?" _Sage plays with the hem of her shirt awkwardly. Her disheveled appearance is enhanced by the quality of her clothing.

"_Of course, love. Sit down, I'll make you something right away. Desmond, get a plate and turn the front burner on?"_

"_Just breakfast." _I grumble and do as I'm told. _"Then she's gone." _Avery ignores me. I'm sure I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight.

Breakfast came and went - I was not a part of it. I willingly isolated myself in the bedroom, face up on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting to drop from the high. While the feeling was largely relaxing, I couldn't calm my nerves. If anything, I'd only been made more pensive and therefor more worrisome. My thoughts churn. We're harboring a fugitive.

My heart's beating in my head.

Realization comes like water. Washes over me like a wave; retreats into the deep. And such is the high. Thoughts are intense, but don't stay for long;

Leaving me floating, rocked gently by the undulation of my blood throughout my body. I admit I missed the familiar feeling, and was already starting to fall from it. _It was shit stuff anyway. _I sigh and pop in my earbuds and put the music on shuffle. I don't want this to be real. Fuck this Bio Terrorist shit. I can't handle it. It's fucking stupid - Avery can go off crusading without me.

To myself, it's an empty statement: she always finds a way to get my unwilling ass involved.

My mind wanders to myself, focusing on my being. There's a lack of fear. Sure, a Bio Terrorist is a terrifying prospect, even with all this Delsin shit - but I doubt Sage strikes fear into _anyone's _heart. She doesn't have that air about her. Sure, she's a bit crude, but she's oddly demure. I can't place it. She's different, but I know I can't let that get in the way of the facts: she's a Bio _Terrorist._

I brush off the thought as first impression. A second later, Avery comes in and shuts the door behind her, her dark eyes trained on me. I half sit up.

"_Desmond." _She begins sternly.

"_If you're gonna grill me about the weed, it's only weed. Relax. Grill me about how I let a Bio Terrorist into the house at-"_

"_Conduit," _She corrects me, _"And you promised me you would never smoke marijuana again, Desmond."_

"_Don't call me Desmond!"_ I flop back flat against the bed with a sigh.

"_Are you…"_ She's pushing tentatively at something, and it takes a moment for the implication to click.

"_High? What do you think!?" _I say and roll my eyes again.

Avery folds her arms and doesn't look at me. I know from experience that now's when I need to start profusely apologizing and making empty promises. With a grunt, I stand, making my way over to her. I place my hands gently on her shoulders. She slaps me. Stung, I let my head hang for a minute. I draw breath to apologize, but end up letting it out slow.

"_I'm not doing this now. We have a guest." _I look at her somberly for a brief moment before pushing my way past her and out the bedroom door. I fight another wave of dizziness. Whatever that Bio Terrorist did to me is affecting me, giving me another reason to hate her.

Tentatively, I join Sage at the now bleached container of Oreos on the counter. I pick up a cookie and twist it, eating the cream half first. Sage has eaten a whole row of the mostly full package.

"_Slow down; you're gonna barf."_

"_Haha, fuck you. They're so damn good." _She says happily, picking up another. I follow suit.

"_Anyway." _Sage continues, _"You need to be nicer to her." _I'm taken aback by her comment and laugh curtly at it, grabbing a few oreos and laying across the couch.

"_Haha, fuck you." _I roll my eyes, mocking her.

Gladly, she doesn't bring it up again.

It's not her place.

As if on queue, Avery leaves the bedroom with a grinning guise. I know her satanic ways.

"_Sage, you're welcome to stay here until you find where you need to go."_

My jaw drops. A couple of oreos slip from my hand onto the couch.

"_No fucking way," _I reciprocate.


	3. Chapter 3: Life in a Cloud

I like to think like this:

I am the protagonist of my story; my life. I exist beneath some shitty author's pen or some animator's frame on a torrented version of Flash CS3 (and if they put the animated short of my life on youtube, _this_ is the story arc that'll get all the views). I like to see the words and images of my existence - imagine them, of course - it makes events easier to simplify.

Right now, it's a graphic novel (preferably illustrated by Bryan Lee O'Malley, who's a straight up G) and I clearly see each panel.

First page: Me, your pessimistic though admittedly adorable protagonist sitting in his room with the door half open, playing an unimportant video game. Sage and Avery having an animated conversation on the couch. Sage laughs, stuffing her face with something from a bag. She's wearing Avery's clothes, which means she's showing a lot of skin. Cut back to me attempting to ignore their conversation.

Second page: The conversation turns more serious. They get less animated and more sober. Me, half playing the game, half listening. My eyes are still on the screen. Slowly, I stop moving the sticks and spamming the buttons. They keep talking. My character dies on screen and respawns. I don't notice.

Page three: A full page picture of me, with an ellipse over my head and an open mouth. I'm listening. I'm affected by what I hear.

"...How long were you in there?"

"It was...a while. I don't know. I didn't keep track, I guess. It was light all the time."

"What did they...you know…" I can hear the caution in Avery's voice, "Like, do to you?"

Sage takes a minute to contemplate. My heart rises in my chest, and I'm really sure if I want to hear what she has to say. The TV drones on in the background.

"Nothing, really."

"Nothing? They just...locked you up?"

"I mean - at first, she - Augustine, I mean - tested me. Made me fight." I can hear Sage thinking, "I fucking hated it."

Avery has to nudge Sage to keep going. It occurs to me that she probably hasn't talked to anyone about this yet. I'm not sure if Avery is the right person for that job. She's easy to talk to, she's comforting, not at all intimidating. But she's impulsive. Inconsiderate, to a degree. "Only at the beginning, though?"

"Yeah...I'm...not a very good fighter. They gave up in a couple weeks, I think."

"Oh," says Avery. "And after that?"

"They cuffed me and put me in solitary, for a while, I think…"

"Really?"

"Yeah. It...wasn't that bad, actually. I got food and stuff, to sleep in a pretty good bed. It was just…"

"Boring?"

"Boring."

I hear someone get up off the couch and immediately turn back to my game, as not to arouse suspicion. But Sage's words stick with me. I imagine Avery is disappointed by her lack of an emphatic. It won't get her many likes or retweets or 'plus one's' or whatever on her blog. I don't do that shit. Don't hate me.

But Sage...the only thing I can think is 'worthless.' And to be a worthless _bio fucking terrorist _must be the shittiest type of worthlessness to ever exist. _Ever_. There's something I can relate to, but Avery can't. Avery's _too _good.

I must remain the mindless tool I appear to be in order to save my soul from the fiery, sexy hell that is my girlfriend. If she knows I was listening, she'll know I'm cracking. And I can't have her knowing something that important.

"Des?" Avery calls, and I pause the game.

"Yeah?"

"I'm off to work. Play nice, maybe order something to eat." _Praise the lord; it's one thirty. _

Avery is the certified hot barista at Starbucks. She has the ass for it. And the leggings. And the urban fast and neat vibe. That sort of natural look, while still wearing a shit ton of makeup.

_Girls: the fucking enigma. _

I was relieved until the door clicked shut. I then realized I was home alone with that _abomination. _

"Can I use your shower?" She asks with a smile. I smite her with my next glance, trying to burn her existence from my apartment with merely the heat from my mind. "Yeah. Don't flood it. Don't use up all the hot water." Sage nods, excited, and steals into the bathroom. I look around.

This place is a _mess._

And I actually kind of like it. Sage may be a dumpster-diving happy-go-lucky, but she's also sort of a shit storm. There's food everywhere: crumbs, used plates, wrappers, used cups and silverware; in surveying the room I find the need to wipe a smile off my face. _Don't get used to this, Des. It won't stay this way for long._

I hear the shower turn on and go back to my game, playing idly. _Marvel vs Capcom Three is only mildly entertaining for so long._ Sage is out of the shower fast - I'm glad she's considerate of what I'd asked - and soon is back in the clothes Avery gave her: a pair of light pink pajama shorts and a loose tee shirt short enough to be a crop top. She looks good, but it's not at all fitting, I think. I can't see her as the same kid I met on the street in those clothes. She's Sage in a pair of Avery's PJ's now, not _just_ Sage. She joins me on the bed, laying on her stomach and scrutinizing the screen. We do nothing but sit in light silence for some moments, both of us too absorbed to say anything.

"What...is this?"

I stiffen, initially unsure of what to say. "Just a game...it eats ass, though." I stand for a moment and rifle through a number of cases, trying to select something...right.

So I pick up _The Last of Us: Remastered Edition_ and put it in the PS4. I switch the input on the TV and hand Sage the controller as the game loads. She looks at me for help for a second.

"H-How the fuck does this work!?"

"You've never used a console before?"

She shakes her head. It dawns on me: She's probably never seen anything like this. I feel ridiculously stupid. She's been in there for what-_years?_ I'm so fucking _stupid._

I idly glance at the first cutscene at the game, gaze flitting briefly from the screen to Sage and back. She's completely transfixed, laughing at the intimate father-daughter schematic.

"Is...Is this, like - real people?" Sage turns to me for a moment, eyes full of question, before flicking her gaze back to the screen.

"Nah - I mean, sort of. It's mostly graphics. Like computer shit." I half ramble. She seems normal, for a second. Like a kid. I wipe the smile off my face whenI notice it's there and put on my 'no shits given ever about anything' face.

"I never really got into computer games when I was a kid - No time, I guess...but this is fucking _cool._" It's easy to tell she's genuine. A crooked smile flits across her face as she taps the buttons on the controller, getting a feel for them. Her happiness is infectious-makes me forget that she called it a 'computer game.' She freaks out when the cutscene is over and the camera angle is left up to her.

"DES HOW DO I DO THIS"

"Uh….You like...look around."

"Yeah - no shit! But _how?_"

I realize I've been dumbing myself down. I do it all the time, actually, and it's a bad fucking habit. I'm by no means eloquent, but for the first time in a while I see how _stupid_ it sounds. I know what to say, but it takes me a moment to work up the confidence to say it.

"Look...Do it like you're there. Actually right there. In the room. When you're walking, you don't always look the same way, yeah? You look at where you're going. Do that, but like, with the sticks." She slows down for a second, obviously mulling over my words. I like that about her: that her thought is so visible.

"Like...Like this?" She glances to me for a moment, a short break of eye contact with the screen. I can't meet her gaze.

"Yeah, like that. I guess it takes a while to get used to." I pause - "You're doing good." Sage smiles, I can see it out of the corner of my eye.

I smile too; it's unrestrained.

This continues for quite some time. We talk more, brief bits at a time, and I enjoy my moments. I'm so relaxed. Sage understands the value of silence, something I've only rarely encountered. It takes a while to get used to it but once I do I absolutely love it.

I find myself laying back on the bed, smelling Avery's perfume. I hate it. I hate that I can't forget her, that every moment she's surrounding me. I can't get rid of her. I can't be alone by myself without this omnipresent phantasm of my fucking girlfriend hanging over me like heavy morning mist. It clings to my skin, my clothes, soaking me. I breathe it in and it coats my lungs.

And the worst part is that sometimes, it completely overtakes my senses. I can smell nothing but her, see nothing but her, _breathe_ nothing but her scent.

She's hanging on my skin and I can't tell if I'm ironically in love or extremely lost.

I notice Sage has paused the game; she stretches and yawns, laying back next to me. Our shoulders are nearly touching.

"How long have you and Avery been together?"

"A few months." I answer robotically, struck by her seemingly psychic awareness.

"Oh."

"Yeah." We fall into silence again, but this time, I'm the one to break it. "We haven't been living together for too long, though."

"How long?"  
"Long enough for shit to get boring."

Sage laughs. "You get bored of _that_ piece of ass?"

"Oh, hell nah." I grin. It fades. "I just get bored of - of this."

"You're sort of a huge tool," Sage says tentatively.

"I know." The grin returns. Fades.

Silence, like nothing I've ever experienced, is spread over us like a weightless pall. I feel breath pass my lips and dissipate into the air. I'm staring at the ceiling. Sage flips onto her stomach, her hands under her chin. Looks at me sidelong.

"...Des?"

"Yeah?" I ask, half startled by her now timid voice,

"Will you help me find my parents?"

I don't know what to say to her. It seems I've almost forgotten who - no - _what_ she is and how fucking _illegal_ helping her would be. Blood throbs in my head and I put a hand over my face, the sweat from my palms clammy on my cheek, and run it up through my dark hair. I inhale and the air is tight in my chest.

"...Yeah."

I release the breath.

The room is filled with my sigh and Sage's toothy smile.


End file.
